


Prequel

by sasha_b



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-blackout Christmas at the Matheson's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prequel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttercups3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/gifts).



> Written for the nbc_revolution Secret Santa fic exchange. Pre-blackout.

 

 

  
The fire crackles and the house is quiet. Rachel and Ben are upstairs, presumably asleep, the kids quiet for once. Tuckered out, after all the screaming and the Santa Claus crap, probably. Miles swirls his drink around, the amber liquid catching the light from the flames that pop cheerfully and heat the room. He’s tired as well, the leave he’s gotten from Parris Island short and bittersweet.

He and his brother get along – mostly – and he loves the kids. Rachel, though. Rachel is an enigma he’s not going to try and think about just yet. They’ve always had some sort of attraction thing going, but Miles’ hadn’t acted on anything as one, she’s his brother’s wife, and two, there’s –

“Don’t tell me you drank all of it, jerk bag.”

“I would have, had you come in here five minutes from now. Asshat,” Miles replies and shoves the capped bottle with his foot at Bass, who slumps onto the couch next to him, both of them barefoot, tee shirts and sweats old and comfortable and enough for the fire warmed room. Bass bends over and smiles brilliantly, his wide grin covered after he uncaps the rum bottle and slugs straight from the mouth. “You love me anyway,” he quips, nudging Miles with his elbow, taking another swig, leaning back against the back of the couch, arm length pressed against Miles’ left one.

“You’d like to think.” Miles drinks more. He tries not to get more melancholy, but the thoughts in his head are iffy and weird and he doesn’t want to go back to base tomorrow. He wants to sit here with Bass and drink and pretend he’s not mixed the fuck up by his pretty, ice-queen sister in law and thoughts of his family and what that really damn well means.

Bass’ freezing foot touches his, and Miles almost drops his drink as he flinches violently away from the other man. The fire is warm as is the room, but Miles hasn’t ever found a situation where feet are anything but cold.

“What the fuck, man? Not cool,” Miles grouses as Bass laughs, leaning over, flinging his lean body onto Miles’ broader frame. “Nah, man, not cool. Cold,” he says, and tries to tuck his feet under Miles’ legs.

A brief scuffle ensues.

“Ow, Bass.”

“Really? Ow? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Your bony knees are digging into my dick? How’s that?”

Bass smirks and manages to push their glasses and almost empty bottle of Captain Morgan (gross, but beggars can’t be choosers) out of the way of their flailing limbs and settles on top of Miles, sliding his knees to the sides of Miles’ legs, his elbows propping him up so he’s cocking an eyebrow down at Miles.

“I’d prefer something else digging into your dick, whiny pussy baby.”

Miles shushes him, _the kids, man_ , but Bass is insistent and both of them are mostly drunk and really full and Miles can’t help it and cracks a smile as Bass does, both men warm and comfortable and Bass rolls his hips a little too slowly for Miles’ taste, shoving their groins together.

“Quiet,” Miles whispers.

“As a fucking mouse,” Bass answers him.

Later, when they’re both still lying on the couch, sweaty and overly warm and half dressed, Bass shoves at Miles, trying to make some more room for both of them. Miles grunts and grabs at Bass’ hair in order to still him.

“What part of quiet didn’t you understand?”

“You didn’t stop me from talking when I was sucking your – ”

“Uncle Miles?”

Miles’ face flushes scarlet and he shoves Bass off him, unceremoniously dumping the other man on the floor with an _oof_ that is most definitely not quiet. “Yeah, Charlie,” he answers, kicking at Bass’ leg as the other man curses at him under his breath.

“Would you read to me? I can’t sleep.” The little girl stops at the edge of the couch, looking down at Bass lying on the floor, her tiny face drawn in a perfectly imperial frown. “Bass,” she says, the “s” sounds in his name almost too much for her child lips, “mommy made up a bed for you. You don’t have to sleep on the floor.” She crawls over him, stepping on his hip to reach the microfiber couch cushions, his grunt of surprise totally ignored as she sits and waits expectantly for Miles, holding her book out.

Miles rolls his lips inward in order to stop from laughing; the look Bass shoots him almost makes him lose it completely. “Sure, honey.” He takes the book out of her hands after stepping over Bass, letting the other man get up by himself. Miles takes Charlie into his lap, and opens the book.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.”

Bass stands and watches them, hands on his hips, scowling, Miles ignoring him as Charlie settles in, her attention totally on the book in Miles’ hands. The fire pops and Miles reads and shortly Bass pushes at Miles, making him move over enough for the three of them to fit on the couch.

Miles reads for a long while, and Bass doesn’t say anything or interrupt or nudge or do anything to distract him.

Miles is at the point where Harry gets his wand from Olivander’s – Bass looks down at Charlie and pokes Miles in the bicep. “She’s asleep.”

Miles hands the book to Bass and stands with Charlie in his arms. When he comes back downstairs, Bass is holding the book and staring moodily into the fire, his feet tucked up under his legs, his chin in his hand. Miles plops next to him and snatches the blanket from behind the couch where it had fallen during their _activities_ earlier, covering himself with it, getting ready to shove Bass off the couch.

“Mommy made up a bed for you,” he says in a high-pitched voice, but Bass ignores him in favor of staring at the flames.

“I always worry about us.”

“What the fuck for, Bass? We’re fine. Worry more if we have to go overseas again.” Miles is really tired now, all the reading having worn him out, and all the thinking about his family and all the fucking too, if he’s honest. He closes his eyes and sets his feet on top of Bass’ legs, expecting the other man to push them off.

“Not us, us. Us, as in – this,” Bass waves a hand, shaking it. “Our family.”

“This is my family, Bass,” Miles says, eyes still closed. “And they fuck with my head constantly, so I wouldn’t add yourself in there so fast.”

“We’re brothers, Miles,” Bass says it so softly Miles has to open his eyes to actually see Bass’ mouth move. “You are my family. So are all these people, by default.” He licks his lips and still looks straight ahead, his hand holding Harry Potter upright. “I love my family, too. Enough to worry what will happen when – if – when we die.”

“Shit, Bass, not now, okay?” Miles shuts his eyes again and crosses his arms. “I’ll take care of your family if anything happens. I’ve told you that before. Don’t worry about them, okay? Besides, you’ll be fine. We’re fine.” He’s not sure where this is coming from, but he’s heard it before from the other man. Definitely when Bass has been drinking, which they both have been.

He feels the same way, though, truth be told. Bass is his brother, in all but blood. He loves him like he loves – well, not really. Ben is Miles’ brother, but Bass is –

“Shit,” Miles repeats. “Not now. Let me sleep. Then we’ll worry about the future. Okay?”

“Everything I do is for you, you know that, right?”

_Jesus._

“Bass.”

“I’m your family too, Miles.”

“Yeah, Bass, you are,” Miles sighs, but opens his lids and uncrosses his arms and reaches for Bass’ skin, touching the other man’s forearm. “You are,” he says more gently. If only to stop Bass’ slightly drunken rambling. Not to reassure himself at all.

Bass’ mouth quirks and he sets the book down. He slides his free hand to Miles’ where it’s resting on his forearm and touches Miles’ fingers, briefly, gently, so unlike Bass Miles almost sits up and asks him what’s _really_ wrong.

Bass leans over and, gripping Miles’ hand in his, presses dry lips to Miles’ forehead, a benediction, a weird light brushing of wings, soft, warm, gone.

“Night, idiot,” he whispers, and stands, dropping Miles’ hand, throwing the blanket over Miles’ feet and walks a bit unsteadily to the stairs, heading up to the room Rachel’s set aside for him. Miles watches him go, gaze narrowed, brow furrowed until Bass disappears from sight.

He stares at the dying fire until it’s almost nothing but embers, feeling that dry kiss on his forehead as though it were imprinted there.


End file.
